


How to Cure a Nightmare

by timaeusTestiflied



Category: Original Work
Genre: Christian Lore - Freeform, Death, F/M, Pre-Apocalypse, Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timaeusTestiflied/pseuds/timaeusTestiflied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an apartment complex in New York, lives one of the most beloved and feared beings that man has even known.  His name is Death, and while he is known for killing people with his cursed touch, all he wants to do is listen to Frank Sinatra and take long walks through the city.</p><p>When he thought his life was fine the way it is, he meets a young woman with a tragic past named Madeline.  As their friendship begins to blossom, signs of the apocalypse begin to rise, and he swears on his very existence to keep her safe.</p><p>With the end of days drawing near, unholy duties to preform, and a bond that was never meant to be; the Grim Reaper and Madeline have to make choices that will effect both everyone they care about, as well as everyone on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mortis

* * *

__

 

* * *

 

 

Try as you may to outrun me, you cannot escape.

 

    I am aware of the existence of every last human on this planet, and I have no choice but to take action upon them.  People worship me, love me, fear me, hate me, cower before me, want me, adore me, and even try to find me in their lowly lives in need.  Despite their best efforts, they can only do one of those things when it is  _I_ who finds them.  I don’t bring peace, I don’t bring war, and I don’t bring anything with me.  Whenever there is a beginning, there is always an end.  Of which that end that will not only bring calm to the minds of those in peril, but also bring pain and sadness to the ones who arrived too soon.  I am unavoidable, inevitable, and I am the both the lowest and highest thing in the universe.  I do not create or destroy; I do not bring terror or worry, and I do not bring joy and happiness.  I am here every day, I feel stars in the void of space collapse in my twisted monstrosity of a soul, I have lived since the beginning of time, I will remain so until the bitter end, and what’s really quite strange is that I live in an apartment building in New York City.

 

     Now, I’m not trying to exaggerate on my position in society, I’m only trying to tell the honest truth.  Some might be thinking that I’m a dictating politician, or a drug salesman who is desperate for $5 to go a long way.  The truth is that I am the end of all things, the killer who is never accused, and the one who is perhaps the loneliest being history has ever known.  I am Death; and I don’t know about you, but that isn't an impressive statement in my perspective. 

 

 

    While I have lived since the moment the first stars were created, I still feel like a child.  I’m not a walking skeleton; I don’t wear a black cloak, or carry a scythe and an hourglass.  I find it stupid how humans look upon my image like I’m from some cheap horror film.  I look just like a tall, skinny, clean shaven, and white haired human male who’s probably in his early 20’s.  I can’t guess exactly, because I’ve looked like this for centuries.  I’m wearing fairly decent clothes that include a simple black hoodie, dark jeans, boots, white shirt, and a backpack.  If you’re guessing that I carry souls that I’ve reaped in that backpack, you’re wrong.  I have no interest in souls, or even what they’re worth.  I don’t care if the person was good or bad during their lifetime, and If I am to walk around on this God-forsaken rock looking like a typical human being who has done both virtues, then I may as well try to fit in if I can.

 

    If there’s one power that’s stereotypical about my image, it’s that I can kill people just by touching them.  Just one brush against my horrid form, and they can die in countless ways.  They include things such as heart attack, stroke, internal bleeding, strange appearances of bullet wounds, trauma, and being attacked by animals among others.  I have no control over what happens when a human touches me, but I do have control over who I want to kill with pinpoint accuracy.  One wave of my hand, and I can have their head be filled with explosives.  I can just name a person without getting up from the couch, and their funeral will be in a matter of minutes.  It is both my curse, as well as my blessing.

 

    When a human holds onto me, however, they don’t die instantly.  The moment they do, they are gone.  They could live for a long time without letting go of me, but that usually isn’t the case.  I like it when someone touches me, because it makes me feel a little less empty.  It gives me the sense of purpose and belonging.  If a human does not touch, then they can hardly be considered a human at all.

 

    It’s a rare occurrence when human comes into face-to-face contact with me, because most of the time they just die without my notice of it.  Sometimes, just sometimes, I can feel it.  When a person dies when they’re not ready to, I can feel it in my gut.  Those are the people who purposely cut their life short despite life’s plea.  Those are the people who refuse to have a future and wait for me, the people who give up on hope when it’s staring at them in the eyes, the ones who don’t understand how precious it is to be alive; those are the people who I wish to keep above the rest.

 

    I wasn’t exiled here due to some heavenly mistake I committed several thousand years ago or something; I just chose to live here instead of Hell or any other location like it.  I live in a crappy apartment building several blocks away from Times Square.  I like it over here because it’s one of the cheapest that I can afford, but I hate it because of our loud and abusive neighbors above us.  Also, I hate it because of the lights of the famous street peering in through the windows, blinding us every night.  I had no choice but to board them up with plywood and black garbage bags.  My sister always brags to me whenever I do, calling it “Unjust” or “Not natural”, so I’ve decided to take them down during the weekends when the lights are brighter than they should be.  I’d like to end our neighbor's lives, really, but I don’t want to cause any trouble if I do.  They have five small children up there, and I’d hate for them to lose of their parents when they’re that young.  I just hate to kill children in general.

 

    My twin sister, Life, lives with me in this apartment.  Because she is my twin, we both have the similar facial features, age, light skin, green eyes, and a height of 6’3.  Unlike my snowy white hair of an old man, she has very light blonde hair of a young woman.  She’s very happy all of the time, and refuses to look at the bad things that are holding this world in a tender embrace.  Compared to my dark and simple approach to fashion, she’s managed to create her own look that I can guarantee cost more money than it should.  She always wears a light sundress, comfy sweater, a flower hairclip, wooden jewelry, and ballet flats.  Just one look at her and you could think that she’s a hipster teenage girl, takes "selfies" and "hashtags" every last air particle in the room, and always seems like she’s having fun no matter what’s going on.  Once you get to know her personality and interests, she really is a sweet girl who doesn't have an Instagram or even a Facebook account.

 

**~~~**

 

   Today is Tuesday, nothing special about it; it's just Tuesday and nothing more.  It isn't a holiday, a day off for people who go to school or work, and nothing to celebrate about.  A few rainclouds guard over the New York skyline, protecting it from the late afternoon sun that so desperately wants to peek inside and look at the humans.  The locals walk under unfinished structures with expressionless faces, yellow taxis turn sharp corners and knock their customers over in the backseat, men and woman sell their art and music on the sidewalk, the smell of oil and sweat float through manholes, and homeless people beg for fifty cents before they spit in your face and demand for more.  The air is mildly cold enough for a lightweight coat, but that’s it.  This is what a typical Tuesday looks like, as well as any other day of the week.

 

 

    Life is currently at home.  She doesn’t have a job at the moment, but she is always looking, and she does do volunteer work on occasion; but today is her day off.  In my backpack are some groceries that she has asked me to buy: bread, ketchup, Campbell’s soup, carrots, three apples, and a pack of Jell-O.  I walk along the dirt and gum crusted sidewalk, looking down at my shoes, and holding onto the straps of my pack when an ignorant man wearing a blue jacket and a moustache bumps into me.  “Hey, watch it shithead!” he curses at me.  I look back at him for only a moment, and I keep walking without saying anything.  He stops in the middle of his stride, places a hand on his heart, the look on his face shows true horror, and he collapses.  Several people crowd around the man like a vulture going in for a fresh meal, but I didn’t acknowledge it.  The only thing on my mind about that man is why he chose such a fowl word to be his last.

 

    After a long wait for the subway, it finally came around.  A swarm of people pour out of it, another piles in, and I just so happen to be in there with them.  I keep my distance away from the crowd; I don’t want another death to happen on this fine afternoon.  I take a seat across from a sleeping homeless lady, and pull out my cell phone.  I press the series of buttons on the keyboard to text my sister:

 

 

     

    I wish that I was lying and said that nobody sat next to me and that they weren't going to die, but I could never do that when I’m talking to my sister.  She tends to get pissed off whenever I tell her that I’ve killed someone.  Of course, we can’t do anything about it.  I’d lay down every last dollar in this country if someone says that they’re sentencing Death himself for an act of murder.  The man sitting next to me must weigh (at least) three-hundred pounds.  His shirt is stained with food, his red hair is in need of a wash, and he must be missing a few teeth.  The amount of body fat he’s storing is draped over me, and I’m swimming in it.  I try to move away from this monster of a human, but nothing helps.  He’s completely oblivious to it as well!  I dig out my earbuds from my pocket, plug them into my phone, and let the soothing voice of The Cab take my attention away.

 

_Get out your guns, battles begun,_

_Are you a saint, or a sinner?_

_If loves a fight, than I shall die,_

_With my heart on a trigger._

 

 

    The man soon closes his eyes, his muscles are relaxed, and I’m caught in his prison.  After ten minutes, the pre-recorded man on the intercom announces my cross streets, and I slowly free myself.  Once standing up, my legs tingle from being unused, and I place my fingers on the man’s neck to feel his pulse before leaving.  He doesn’t have one, he’s not moving, and he’s in a sound sleep that he will never wake up from.  Good riddance.  When I exit, a man with dreadlocks and playing the bongo drums has gathered a small crowd of tourists.  Feeling a small flicker of sympathy, I take out two dollars from my wallet and toss them at him; he doesn’t notice.  He doesn’t even nod at me or say thank you, he just continues playing his drums as if he’s been doing it since the day the earth began to orbit the sun.  The temperature outside has gotten colder, and I zip up my hoodie and pull it over my head.

 

     As the crowd of people pile out of the station, I can’t help but look around.  Tourists take pictures of the giant advertisements in the square, shop windows display their goods, venders pass hot dogs and pretzels to hungry patrons, street lights change from a red to green, people dressed in silver and gold stand in motionless positions for the public’s entertainment, a news crew is doing a nightly report on the scene, a lost dog is sniffing the side of a building, restaurant signs announcing their specials block the sidewalk, a man rides a bike past me as I walk, and a small girl and her mother go into a toy store.

 

     I like times like this; when people are alive and happy, have meaning, set goals, and want to engage themselves in activity.  When they do, they have something to live for, and I find that to be one of the most beautiful things in the universe.  In death, there is only emptiness.  Depending on who you were as a person in your life, it will reflect on where you go when you finally get to say goodbye.  When Christ died all those years ago, the gates of heaven were opened, and every last soul that passed before that date was stuck in a limbo type place, and was set free.  I should know, because I was there.  I haven’t seen him since then, but the angels who come down from heaven on occasion have mentioned him.

 

 

**~~~**

 

 

    When I arrive at the apartment, Life is on the couch watching a movie.  She’s eating unbuttered popcorn, she’s wearing her pajamas, and her hair is in a loose bun held by chopsticks.  The windows are boarded up as they are on the weekdays, and I can hear the pounding footsteps of our upstairs neighbors.  Unzipping my backpack, I move into the kitchen and open up the refrigerator.  The kitchen is small, the sink only streams cold water, the dishwasher refuses to work on occasion, and the battery in the clock on the wall is dead.  Home sweet home. 

 

“Hello!” my sister says, taking in another bite of popcorn.

“Hey…” I say in reply as I take out the bottle of ketchup.

“So, how was that walk of yours?”

“Alright, I bumped into a man and he died of a heart attack at some point.”

 

    She rolls her eyes at me.

 

“I hate it when you do that!” she raised her voice slightly.

 “Accidents happen.  I’m pretty sure that he lived a bad life, seeing as though he called me a ‘Shithead’ when we collided.”

 “Words don’t make the person,” she points out.  “You could curse one-thousand words a day, and you could be the one who solves world hunger, or cures cancer.”

 “Yeah, may God bless his damned soul and forgive him for bumping into me.” I say.  “However, I ask that God may _not_ bless the soul of the fat idiot I was drowning in on the subway.  I do not take back that statement, and I mean it when I say it.” I exclaim as I put the last of the items away.

 

 

    She groans at me, and continues watching the movie.  I don’t know what she’s watching, but I’m guessing that it’s either made by Disney or some other animation company, because there are wacky and slapstick sounds coming from the speakers.  When I’m done, I take off my boots and sit next to her on the couch.  Although she has a blanket covering her, she doesn’t share it.  I try to take some popcorn, and she ignores me.  It’s interesting how we can’t live without eachother, yet we can’t even stand eachother at times like this.  If I touch her, she won’t die.  Like me, she is immortal.  In fact, if I touch any sort of demon, angel, supernatural being or otherwise, they won’t perish.  That’s what I like about my existence.

 

     Life turns the volume down on the TV and looks at me.  “So,” she says, breaking our silence “Guess who called today.”

 

“Who?” I asked, my voice mumbled by a mouthful of popcorn.

 “Go on, guess.”

 

    I swallow, and a kernel sticks to my throat.

 

“St. Therese of the Little Flower?”

“Nope.  It was Gabriel!”

 

 

    Gabriel?  I don’t know who he is.  Another human, perhaps?  Maybe it’s someone that Life met at her workplace, or maybe he might be a boyfriend that she is hiding from me.  I’m completly oblivious for a few moments, when I finally realize who she’s talking about.

 

“Wait, you mean the archangel?”

 “Yes!” she says.  Her voice is cheery, and her attitude is ecstatic.  She seems to get very excited when talking about angels, or anybody from heaven for that matter.  “He called us this afternoon, and he wanted to talk to you.  I told him that you weren’t here, but he told me to leave a message.”

 

    Archangels are angels who work very close with God.  There are about seven of them, but I’ve only met the main four, Michael, Uriel, Raphael, and Gabriel.  They only come down from heaven if something big is about to happen.  Uriel and I used to be good friends, as he was an angel of death, and I am, well, you already know.  Raphael and I never really talked a lot, but he has done a few good favors for me in the past.  Out them all, I don’t care much for Michael.  He is strong like a protector, he scoffs me every time we meet, he’s mildly attractive, and I swear that he has come up with a plot to get rid of me; but I’m not worried.  As for Gabriel, he likes to keep his distance from me, despite my efforts to be friends with him.  He’s nicer than the others, and I wouldn’t mind being with him again.  I also knew another one named Lucifer back in the day, but he became rebellious at one point, and was cast out of heaven.  He became evil, and ruled Hell under the name “Satan”.  Sadly, we still keep in touch.

 

“Well,” I say “What’s the message?”

 “I don’t know.  He didn’t want to tell me, even though I’m your counterpart and I should know this stuff.  He did, however, say that he wants to meet you over coffee in the morning.”

 

    Sighing, I stand up from my seat and begin walking towards my bedroom.  I know that it’s only 7:00, but I need to lay my head down and get some sleep.

 

“What’s the matter?” she asked with her tone full of concern.

“Nothing,” I say  “Call him back, and tell him that I’ll be there…”

 

 

    I shut the door to my room, take off my shirt and hoodie, and lay down on my full-size mattress.  My room is fairly big for being in an apartment.  It has one window, a mirror, a rug that needs to be washed, books scattering the floor, a desk holding up a virus filled computer, several posters of band from the 1970’s and 80’s, a lamp that only turns on during the day, and a picture of a stereotypical grim reaper above my bed with a quote that reads:  “ _The goal_ _isn’t to live forever, the goal is to make something that will_.”   I never fully grasped the meaning of that quote, despite how many times it’s run through my head.  I don’t know who gave me that picture, or why it’s up there, but I know that it must be important. 

 

 

    Grabbing my phone, I plug in my earbuds once again, and I turn on a classical tune I’ve known for over 200 years.  It’s Camille Saint-Saens, and his orchestra is playing a lively tune known as _Danse Macabre._ As I listen, my eyes begin to drop, and I find myself in a dreamless sleep…

 

  _Oh what a beautiful night for the poor world!_

_Long live death and equality!_

* * *

 


	2. Amore Peribat

    In the morning, a golden beam of sunlight squeezes its way through a crack in the boarded window in my room, and lands perfectly next to me on my worn-out pillow.  It doesn’t hurt my eyes, but it does give a great deal of annoyance.  The joints in my arms creak as they move from hours of being unused.  I have a bad taste in my mouth, I’m still wearing the same pair of jeans from yesterday, I have a small headache, and my five senses are a bit out of whack.  It’s only 7:52, but it seems like 1:00 in the afternoon.  Once sitting up, I stretch from a long night of sleep.  The bones and muscles of my human form feel like crap, but I have no choice but to accept the new day.  I may be in charge of cutting people’s lives, but I don’t have control of time.  If I did, so help me, I would have changed the time to something later in the day.  I never have really been much of a morning person.

 

    I stand up, put on a clean and gray Led Zeppelin band shirt, a pair of jeans, and the same jacket from the night before.  I then go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and fix my natural white hair.  On this particular morning, I don’t look presentable enough to go have coffee with an archangel, but it’s what I have.  I had a really nice blazer and slacks that I used to wear through the majority of the 20th century, but I lost it not long after the 80’s came along; that’s when I switched to jeans and a t-shirt.  Since then, my fashion choices have been simpler and not as elaborate, but if its pompous attire that suits your fancy, then you should have seen me during the 18th century and beforehand.

 

    Yawning, I shuffle into the living room.  Without thinking clearly, I reach out and try to take down the plywood and garbage bag cover over the window.  I hear a throat clear, and I know that I’ve been caught by my sister.  With a tired smirk, I leave the window alone and walk into the kitchen.  Life is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a magazine.  She is still wearing her pajamas from last night, only now her light blonde hair is down and slightly tangled.

 

               "Don't forget our deal, Death.  You take down the boards on the weekends!  Anyway, good morning...” she says in her cheery tone.  It’s almost as if she doesn't sleep at all and is powered by pure happiness 24/7.  Sometimes, I don’t know whether or not to accept her, or to send her to an insane asylum.

                “You seem happy today.” I say sarcastically.  I’m not really in the mood to have a good morning, as a matter of fact.  Is it possible to have a hangover when you didn't have anything to drink?

                “Well, why not?  You’re going to see Gabriel again!  It’s been a long time since you two hung out, and I just wanted to wish you good luck!” she takes a sip of her coffee.

                “Thank you for that, Life.” I walk over to the fridge and pour a glass of milk.  “Really, though.  It’s nothing to be excited about.  It’s just a talk between two guys and maybe over breakfast if we can put that in.”

                “I wouldn’t be too wise about that.  His tone seemed urgent on the phone.  Death, if anything happens, I need to know about this stuff too.  I’m just as powerful as you are, and I can’t let whatever this is just slip past me like that.” She gestured.

                “Come on.  I can assure you that it’s nothing.  In fact, I can guarantee that it’s going to be a about some Godly mission that I have to do again.  Like, kill a world leader, or steal salt.”

                “No, salt stealing is the work of regular angels, remember?  I think you’re safe on that.”

                “Right, but still, better safe than sorry.”

                “You can say that again…”

 

  We pause for a short while and enjoy the company that siblings have to offer.  Now that I think about it, she really _is_ just as powerful as me.  She is my twin sister after all.  Only instead of killing when touching a human, she brings light and joy into their hearts.  If she touches a plant, she can bring it to life a matter of seconds, and several hours with a dead human.  However, they don’t last very long once they are back to life, and die again soon after.  I’ve seen it be done before.  Everything lives when she touches it, everything I touch dies.  It’s a state of equilibrium that we both share and cannot aviod.  If she leaves, then death and destruction will reign.  If I leave, then the circle of life in incomplete, and there would be no peace that I have to offer.  She gives what I take, and I take what she gives.

 

    About 10 minutes pass, and I realize that I need to go meet up with Gabriel.  I finish my glass of milk and turn up my phone’s volume.

 

                “Alright,” I say, standing up.  “I’m leaving.  Call me if you need anything while I’m out.”

                “Okay!”  I pat her shoulder, and I head out of the door.  I already know where I’m going, so there is no use in asking which coffee shop I need to head to.  I've been going there for years, and nothing has changed since.

 

 

 

 

**_~~~_ **

 

 

    There is a Starbucks not far from my apartment, and just a few blocks away from Times Square.  There’s nothing special about this Starbucks, as far as anything supernatural goes.  It’s not in a spot where some ancient prophecy is going to happen, the Antichrist is going to be born there, or anything like that; they just have really good coffee than others that we've been to.  As I make my way along the sidewalk and soon make a jaywalk, my hand accidentally touches the side of a woman of African American decent.  She stops in the middle of her stride, reaches for her neck and, begins to choke.  She falls to her knees in the middle of the street, and is hit by a taxi.  I turn around for a moment to watch a few people scream and run to her aid, but I pull the hood of my jacket up and continue on my journey.

 

    I think it’s interesting how humans react so suddenly when a member of their species is dead before them, but they don’t even care if one dies from across the planet and out of their reach.  I've reacted so many times to both situations that I don’t really seem to care anymore.  Everybody on this planet dies, whether you like it or not.  It happens right before you in every part of the world, and yet we all seem to be so ignorant when it does.  I can feel it, though.  I know the pain and agony of a person who dies suddenly in battle, and I can feel the calmness and surrender of one who dies peacefully with family by their side.  That is my pain, it is my pleasure, it my own life that I have no control over.  Without me, there would be nothing.

 

    Not long after I have the incident with the woman in the street, something else catches my attention.  A man with a bald head is wearing a yellow shirt that reads “God Saves All.  The End Is Near.  John 3:16” he and several people beside him are wearing the shirts too, and are holding posters and handing out flyers.  They yell and scream at passersby.  A girl of Chinese origin hands me a flyer and I look at it carefully.  Like their shirts, it talks about the apocalypse, its dangers, to have faith in God, and to prepare for the afterlife.  When I’m a good distance away, I laugh and throw it away in the trash.

 

    Really?  I can’t even believe this!  The apocalypse cannot happen at this time.  I can remember being born, and God told me and my sister the date that he chose when the world would actually end, and to be honest, I don’t remember that date.  It's been billions of years, and I can't remember every last thing that has happened since.  I would've known beforehand if it was to end, and there hasn't been anything or anyone who has warned us about this!  There were no recent earthquakes, hurricanes, etc. to signal the end of days.  Today is Wednesday.  Nothing is special about it other than it’s been colder than normal.  The streets are still full, the earth still orbits the sun, there are still 60 minutes in an hour, no signs whatsoever of the apocalypse.  It's almost as if this is a sick joke.  I shake my head from the thought and I continue my trek.

 

    I walk inside of the Starbucks, and the warmth of the espresso machines, laptop computers, and body heat engulf me.  It smells of baked goods and roasted coffee beans.  I remove my hood, put my hands in my pockets, and sit down at an empty lounge chair and table set that was facing away from the door.  I watch as a pimple-faced teenage boy lazily takes people’s orders, and sends them off to a girl with a headset and a ponytail to make their hot beverages.  I don’t know if she's the person who makes the good tasting drinks, but if she is, I need to keep a note to myself to not touch her at all costs.

 

     I wait several minutes for the angel to arrive, but nothing happens.  The possibility of him ditching me is an intriguing thought, but I’m reminded that the trip from Heaven to Earth isn’t an easy one.  It normally takes about 30 minutes to an hour to travel that far.  Not to mention he has to find North America, the United States, New York City, and then the Starbucks.  This is most definitely going to take a while, so I prop my right ankle to rest on my left knee and I take out my phone to play a few rounds of Fruit Ninja.  If I’m going to be on a mission to kill a dictator or something, I may as well have some fun before I get my hands dirty.

 

    People come and people go, but no angelic being makes his presence.  A man with a slick hairstyle comes up next to me and asks if he could borrow an extra lounge chair, and I tell him that it’s alright; I have three and I only need two anyway.  When he takes the chair, I sigh and look at the time.  It’s almost 8:30.  “Screw this,” I whisper to myself as I disconnect my phone from the free WiFi.  I have better things to do this morning.  My patience is being tested at the moment.  Heavenly beings have a good sense of humor, and this isn’t the first time that they’re invited me somewhere just to pull a good prank.

 

     I’m about to stand up and leave, but the entrance door opens, and something in the back of my mind tells me to continue sitting.  Without looking at my phone, I switch it back on and unlock it to play on it again.  Turning my head away from the door, I hear a conversation between two girls take place as they walk into the Starbucks.

 

               “So what’s going on?  We’re just getting some coffee and then leaving?

               “Hell no.  I need to keep studying for that entrance exam, and the internet at my place is down”

               “Right, right.  Well, remind me to call Randy later.”

               “Randy?  I thought you two broke up!”

               “Well, we kind of did, but he was too angry and upset, and I didn't have a choice but to get back with him.  It’s funny, because we were single for about two minutes after that, and then we got back together.”

               “Oh man.  I have a feeling that the guy is a trouble making lunatic.  I can only dream of what his criminal record looks like!”

               “Hey!  Randy is a good guy.  At least he isn’t afraid to keep me safe n’ shit like he keeps going on about.”

               “Even so, Maddie, I worry about you sometimes.  You keep having bruises and cuts, and just-“

               “Anne, shut it, okay?  We are in love and that’s what matters.  He can be a bit too ‘Alpha Male’ sometimes when we’re making love, but I still like him regardless of his flaws.”

               “Whatever…  I’m going to set my computer over there, and we might be here for a while, so get comfy.”

               “Will do, but I need to put on some makeup.  I’ll be right back.”

 

    As the second girl sits in a chair not far from me and sets up her laptop, the first one walks by in a slow manner.  I catch a glimpse of her as she walks, but I can’t help but transform it into a full-on gaze.  She has very light skin, not a freckle is shown anywhere, her hair is long and the color of dark chocolate, her jawline is well shaped, she wears an elbow length knitted gray sweater and a pair of jeans with a brown belt, her eyes are a brilliant blue.  I turn away as she walks, and I try and juggle the two names of the girls, figuring out which one is which.  Is her name Anne, or is it Maddie?  It’s either one or the other, and there is only a mere 50/50 chance.

 

    I think for a moment as I see her walk into the ladies’ restroom.  I've decided to come up with a plan that is quite possibly the stupidest and most ridiculous thing I may have ever done.  I stand up from my seat, and I go to the counter.  The pimpled teenage boy is staring at me with an emotionless expression.

              

               “Welcome to Starbucks, sir.” No fucking shit.  I’ve been here for a while, and _now_ you’ve decided to welcome me?

               “Uh, hi.” I say, looking at the menu.  “Do you have any teas?” I ask.

               “Yeah.  You want one?”

               “I’ll have an Earl Grey…”

               “Okay.  What is your name?”

    I pause for a moment, and the coin-toss is over.  I have decided.

               “Maddie.  Make it out to Maddie…”

    I pay the money, and the order is given to the headset girl.  I can only pray that I got the girl's name right, and that she will come out before her name is called.  This truly is the dumbest thing I ever have and will ever do.

 

    A few minutes later, the girl is almost done making the tea, and the door to the women’s restroom opens.  Out comes "Maddie" wearing another layer of mascara and a shimmery mess of lip gloss.  I sit back down in my seat, pull my hoodie up, and sink down into the chair.  I cross my fingers and pray to God that this will work.

 

    She swiftly goes past the work area without thinking twice, when suddenly…

 

               “I’ve got an Earl Grey tea for Maddie.” says the cashier.

 

    Maddie stops in her tracks, and a shocked and confused look is on her face.  She hastily goes to the counter, and says to the boy

               “Um, I’m Maddie, but I didn’t order this…” she points to the paper cup of tea.

               “Did you want me to throw it away?”

               “No!  I’ll take it, but-“she looks around the shop and lands her view on her friend.  “Can you point out to me who ordered it?”

               “Aw gee, I don’t remember.” the cashier scratches his head “But, like, he was tall and had freaky white hair.”

               “Was it an old man?” her expression shows nervousness.

               “I don’t think so.  He looked kind of young.  I think he might be one of those stupid emo punks or something.”

 

    I’m fucked.  If I wasn’t the Grim Reaper, I’d kill myself; but immortality is a stupid bitch.

 

               “Well, what was he wearing?” she asks.

               “He was wearing black and stuff.  Nobody left yet, I mean, he might still be here.”

               “Okay, thank you…” she takes the hot tea in her hands, and scans the room for a guy with white hair.  Sadly, there aren’t any, and the one who actually has it is now nervous out of his mind and his heart is racing at the speed of light.  Also he has his hood on, which is a bonus.

 

    Alas, the scared and shy Grim Reaper has failed!  I sense someone standing next to me, and I have no choice but to look up at her.  When I do, it’s like looking at a goddess.  I inch away from her slowly.

               “Hey,” she says, her voice is like honey.  “Did you order this?”

    I can’t speak.  My mind is gone.  Every word that I've ever said since the creation of time and space has left me.  I’m shaking and I don't know what to do.

               “I-…Uh…Yes…  I’m sorry” I say, not looking away from the muse before me.

               “You don’t have to be.  I just wanted to say thank you.  Earl Grey is my favorite.  It’s kind of strange, you know?  Getting tea from a complete stranger.” she smiles and her teeth are like pearls.  “I’m Madeline, some people call me Maddie, but you probably know that already.  And you are…?”

 

    She steps closer, but I back away and stand from my seat.  I pull my hood back to reveal my white hair when her question hits me.  She has a point.  What _is_ my name?  Up until now, I don’t have one.  People just know me as “Death”, or “The Grim Reaper”.  There were old civilizations out there who knew me as Thanatos, Ankou, Malak al-Mawt, and many others.  Yet even now, none of those old names mean anything to me.  Life has several modern aliases that she uses for legal matters, but the thought of having an actual name is beyond me.

 

    I try and come up with as many names as possible in what little time I have, I try and find their roots and meaning, if it fits with my physical appearance, and whether or not I can actually pronounce it.  Madeline waits patiently, and looks into my eyes as if she can see a struggling glimmer of light inside my soul.

 

    I’ve kept her waiting for too long, and seven seconds have passed without an answer to her question.  At last, I blurt out the first name that comes into my mind.

 

               “Eric.” I tell her, and I regret having to lie in order to make an impression.  “My name is Eric.”

   

    She smiles again.  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Eric.” she reaches out her hand for me to greet, but I deny it.

             

                “What’s wrong?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.  “I won’t hurt you.”

               “Yeah, but…” Oh good Lord, how do I explain to her that I am Death and that my touch can brutally kill a man in less than a second?  “I don’t think a handshake is necessary.”

               “Oh, alright, that’s fine with me.”

 

    She seems to be taking this situation quite well.  So much that she looks to be completely oblivious to it.  That’s good, because people who don’t look at the ugly side of the world are considered to be the nicest.  It took me a long time to accept my sister’s lectures.  “Would you like to meet my friend, Anne?” she asks and walks over to the other table before I could say anything.

 

    Anne is sitting down at her laptop computer and has a pair of white earbuds in her head.  She has a light tan compared to Madeline’s paleness; her black hair is pulled into a French braid, she’s wearing a white shirt with a purple sweater, and she has a gold chain necklace.

 

               “Oi, quit listening to the Beatles for a moment and pay attention!” she nudges Anne.

    Anne looks up at her friend and pulls the speakers from her ears.

               “Hi there!  And what would be a good name for a good looking guy like yourself?” she asks me in a funny yet seductive tone and lays her elbow on the table.  I don’t even know anything about these girls, but it seems that they have a liking to me already; especially this one.  Life always did say that I looked handsome on occasion, but I thought she was joking.

               “I’m Eric.” I lie once again, and my cheeks turn pink.  “I um, I bought Madeline a cup of tea out of generosity.  I hate to be disturbing you guys.”

               “Oh not at all,” says Anne.  “I just came here to study some things for my school entrance exam.  I want to study Cosmology.” she smiles.

    Maddie makes a sip of her tea and smells the opening of the plastic lid.  “Mmm… Thank you very much, by the way.”

               “It was nothing.” I shove my hands into my pockets.  “I heard you guys come in, and I thought that it would be good for you.”

               “It worked!  I feel better already.  Is it alright if I get your cell number?  You seem like a cool guy and we should hang out again!  I work over at Barnes and Noble five days a week, so text me any time.  It’s not like my boss cares or anything.”

               “I think it would be best if we hung out on the weekends, what do you think?”

 

    Both Anne and Maddie look at eachother with concern on their faces.

 

               “I can do it, but she can’t.” says Anne.

               “Why not?” I ask.

               “It’s my boyfriend, Randy.  He works during the week too, but his hours are longer, so he gets tired easier.  We only get to see eachother on the weekends these days.”

               “I’m sure that we can figure something out.  There’s a new pub over nea-“ Anne says, but she is cut off.

 

    Madeline’s phone chimed, telling her that she has a new text message.  She takes her purse off of her shoulder, rummages through it, and finds her device.  “Well speak of the devil…” she says in a low voice.

 

               “Guess who’s pissed out of his mind right now?” she asks.

               “Oh shit, we need to go don’t we?” said Anne as she grabbed to top of her computer to fold it down.

               “Yes sir.  Randy texted me, and he said that he forgot to get the keys to his office and that we need to be back at the house; or else.”

               “And by ‘Office’ you mean the janitor’s closet?”

               “Shut up and get off your butt, because we have to leave.”

 

    Part of me wants to scream out in this entire shop and murder every last person except for the girls, and another part of me wants to sit back down and forget that this never happened.  Anne stands from her seat and places her computer in her bag.  Madeline and I exchange phone numbers as quick as we can without messing up.  She is showing the notion that she wishes to hug me, but in all honesty, that’s the last thing that she wants to do.

 

 

               “I’ll see you around, okay?”

               “Sure.  I’ll text you soon!”  With that, the girls wave, and exit the Starbucks.

 

    I look out the window as they leave, and I can’t help but look back at Madeline again.  What is it about her that is taunting and luring me?  She doesn't look familiar, and I know for a fact that she’s only a human being and not a member of the eternal and supernatural community.  I noticed that when I was with her, my heart begun to beat faster than it was before, which is to say that my pulse is ridiculously low, almost to the point of having nothing whatsoever.  When I’m with her, I feel as if I wish to do the impossible, climb every mountain, count all of the stars, and dream everything that the good world has to offer; but I don't even know anything about her.  Maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’m sick, I’m not sure.  The only thing that I do know, is that I don't know what I’m doing.  My head aches worse than what is was earlier this morning, and I can feel the turn of the universe as it goes through its lifecycle.  Never have I ever felt this before in my life, and I don’t even know what to make of this.  My breathing is shallow, and I need to sit back down.

 

    When I do turn around to go sit, I am staring into the magnificent eyes of Gabriel, the Archangel.


	3. Nuntius

    I’ve known Gabriel for eons, but never have I seen him like this.  His black hair is longer than I can recall, it looks like he has a freckle under his eye, he is wearing a blue sweater vest and tie, and he smells like incense.  Those green eyes of his are staring into mine, and I can tell by his expression that he’s unamused at my appearance.  We haven’t seen eachother since the 9/11 attacks, and there isn’t a single doubt in his mind that he expected something new from me, be it a new hairstyle or clothing choice.  He might not look like the angel I knew from long ago, but I know that deep down, he is the one who I’m about to have coffee with.

 

               “Well…” he says, his eyebrows rise.  “Long time no see.”

 

    What fascinates me about archangels is that they are the ones who have divine conversations with God on a regular basis.  This is a being that has looked at God’s soul and found something that goes beyond the cosmos, and all of creation.  Gabriel is the archangel who came to the Virgin Mary and told her that she was about to give birth to a son, of whom will save the world from destruction and sin.  This isn’t just your ordinary angel on Christmas cards with the stereotypical wings and halo; this is an angel who is far more powerful and far more terrifying.  I’m guessing that those wings must be under that vest of his.

 

               “It’s been a while.” I say, shifting my weight.

               “If by ‘a while’, do you mean 2001?” he asks in his heavy British accent.

               “It must’ve felt like yesterday to you, seeing as though you guys up there have no sense of time.”

               “Don’t test me, Death.  My time on Earth is limited, and I would like to spend that time talking you about some things going on.”

               “Fine by me,” I scoff and sit back down in my chair.  “I’d prefer that you use the name ‘Eric’, though.  I just had an encounter with a human who’s using me by that name, and I’d like to start getting used to using it.”

               “Eric?!” he asks and sits across from me.  “Are you out of your mind?!  I know you as ‘Death’, and that is what I’m going to continue calling you.”

              

    “Whatever…” I cross my arms and turn around back at the window, hoping that Madeline and her friend will show up again and put me in a good mood.  I’ve never had good relationships with any sort of heavenly creature, and this is no exception.  I might be overreacting, but I really do want to be friends with Gabriel again.  We were very close back in the days of the Italian Renaissance, but I don’t know what happened to our friendship after that.  I’d like to think that he took his position in Heaven more seriously and eventually decided that I was a heathen working for a darker purpose.

 

                “Hey!” he exclaims and puts a hand on my knee.  “Are you daydreaming again?”

                “What?  Oh, sorry…”

                “How is your sister?”

                “Life?  She’s good.  We live in an apartment not far from here, and I think she misses you guys.  You should come on down to earth more often.”

                “I’d like to, but we’ve been very busy these days.”

                “Oh yeah, might I ask what?”

 

    His eyes widen when I ask, and he slowly leans in.  Instinctively, I join him, and his voice is a cool whisper.

                “What do you know about ‘The Book of Revelations’?” he asks.

                “Revelations?”  I think for a moment.  “It’s the final section of The Bible, it was written by John of Patmos in… I think it was AD 70, but it could’ve been AD 95.  It talks about prophecies, the apocalypse, doomsday, stuff like that.  What about it?”

               “My Lord God has seen the pain and suffering of his people, and like the old days of Israel, Abraham, and Moses, he has decided to free them and bring them to the promised land of New Jerusalem.”

 

    Before I can say anything in my defense, I’m interrupted by the archangel. 

 

               “ _Finis appropinquavit_.”

 

    My heart just sunk down into my stomach, and I know exactly what he meant.

               “The end is near…” I say to myself.

              

    I refuse to believe that the apocalypse is coming.  I mean those clowns outside who are passing out flyers and shouting is one thing, but to hear it coming from an angel who has been in heaven since the start of the universe is something else.  This world was just starting to get somewhere with its advances and pursuit, and now God wants to pour judgment on it?  I back away from the angel, and grip the arms of my chair like I was in an electric chair.  I realize that I have involvement in the doomsday, but now I’m beginning to question it.  What about the people in the world who never had a chance?  The people who were just born, learned their first word, grew up, got married, had kids of their own, and then died today.  Do they need justice for crimes they’ve never done?

 

    I think about all of the people in the world, I think about myself and my sister, and I think about Madeline.  That poor, poor girl.  I overheard Anne talk about that guy, I think his name was Randy, and how he gave his girlfriend bruises.  I think that Madeline needs a better guy to be with other than him.  I haven’t met him or know anything about their relationship, but just that small piece of information is enough to tell me that she doesn’t deserve him.  Now that I have her cell number, I could try and get personal with it, but I figure that would put me in a dangerous situation.  Maybe, there might be hope for her in this upcoming time of destruction.  Now that I think about it, I want her to be the only person who’s still alive after the world is torn to shreds.  However, I am the Grim Reaper, and doing so is the complete opposite of what my job is.

              

               “Wh- what day is it going to happen?” I ask, my head feeling light.

               “In about a week, maybe two, we’re not sure.  God wasn’t specific when he commanded us angels to tell you guys.”

               “So, all of you were sent down to Earth to tell the humans?”

               “No, silly; I mean the archangels.  Michael, Uriel, Raphael and I were sent to tell you and your little gang about the upcoming apocalypse.”

               “Wait, you said ‘gang’.  Does that mean…”

               “Yes, Death.”

 

    As if the angel before me had enough fun throwing surprises left and right, this was the one that dropped like a bombshell.  Gabriel smiled widely, and all of his perfect teeth glimmered in the dim light of the Starbucks.

 

               “ _Et veniunt in equitibus_.  The horsemen are coming,” he said “and you’re one of them.”

 

    If there was an organization that I despised from either Earth or somewhere beyond, it’s the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.  Four figures representing Famine, Pestilence, War, and Death are said to roam the earth and bring doom during the end of time, but their power can only be released when the Seven Seals of the Lamb are opened.  It’s a scroll written on both sides, and sealed seven times; each seal that is opened releases a new type of horror.  The only being that can open it, is Jesus Christ.  The first four involve The Horsemen, the fifth releases those who died in the name of God, the sixth brings various cataclysmic events, and the seventh calls for angels and saints to bring seven bowls that, when poured, brings a new type of doomsday event that no human has ever seen.  Just imagining all of it makes me sick.

 

    The Horsemen of the Apocalypse were created not long after my sister and I were born.  I’ve known the guys for as long as I can remember, and we’ve worked together in various points through history.  Remember the Black Plague?  That was when Pestilence and I were in a rebellious phase when we were teenagers, and we wanted to have some fun.  I have the occasional contact with them every couple hundred years or so, but I don’t see much of them anymore.  So, in a sense, it would be nice to have the entire group together again.  I wouldn’t call them my “gang”, mainly because they’re not under my control.  Yes, we were made by God, but in reality we actually work for the Devil.  Well, I can actually say that with the other three members, but not so much for myself.  Because I live on Earth, I’m independent.  I don’t have anyone telling me what to do very often, and I for sure am not going to listen to the Devil in any way.

 

               “The other angels have told The Horsemen as well?” I ask.

               “Yes, and all I’m saying is that you need to prepare as soon as possible.”

               “Okay, I understand.” I lie.  “Tell me, will everyone die as soon as I come into the picture?”

               “I don’t know, I guess it’s up for you to decide that.  Frankly, I’d say that if you don’t, then all seven bowls will if anything.  Still, I’m sure your colleagues will be glad to help out.”

              

    That’s not the reply I was wishing to hear.  I sigh and watch as a man takes his coffee from the counter.  I miss Madeline, and I wish that I could see her again.  Based on my assumptions of her relationship with Randy, she might need more than a cup of tea in order to feel happy again.  Perhaps there is a way that I could save her from all of this, but doing so has never been heard of before.  I try to think of several ways to help her.  Sending her off to a safe zone isn’t enough, because God’s wrath knows every soul, and will find her in a heartbeat.  Killing her would lose the point, expanding her life wouldn’t work, and making her immortal has never been done before.  I ponder on this for a moment, until:

 

               “Is it possible to postpone the apocalypse?” I blurt out

               “WHAT.  You’re out of your mind!  God has set a specific date, and we need to accept it.  I’m sorry if you have a dentist appointment on that day, but it would be wise to consider cancelling it.”

               “I don’t have one.  Anyway, are you ready for it?”

               “We’ve been preparing for over 13 billion years, we have it planned.”

                “Well, I’m not, and I’m sure that my Horsemen aren’t either.  Tell the big guy to hold it off for a few decades when you get back up there, and if he has a problem, he can come and talk to me himself.”

                “You’re mad!”

                “Am I?  If you winged freaks have been getting ready for over 13 billion years, then why now does he send you to tell The Horsemen?  We should’ve known about this when you guys did.  I think it’s unfair how he treats us like this, and I think it’s unfair how you and your angels have pushed me and my guys off like we’re evil.  Remember that, Gabe ol’ buddy?  Of course you do.”

 

    His expression shows tension, and I can tell that he wants to punch me in the jaw.

 

               “I’ll tell my Lord, but he’s not going to be happy about this.”

               “Yeah, yeah.” I say as I get up from my seat.

 

    I turn up the hood of my jacket up and begin to walk towards the exit, when Gabriel calls me back.

 

               “Why do you care, anyway?  You have a job to do, and you know that you’re good at it.  You do it every day whether you know it or not, and what makes the apocalypse so different?”

 

    I stand there for a moment and digest his statement.  I turn my head to him, and I say in the most serious voice I can ever remember having.

 

             “I’ve fallen in love.”

   

    The angel's eyes widen, he puts a hand to his mouth in shock.  Before he can say anything else, I exit the Starbucks.


	4. Conventus

    The idea of Gabriel lying about the upcoming apocalypse is a possibility, but he’s a holy being who would rather go to Hell than disobey the Ten Commandments; so it’s highly unlikely.  I have to be honest, I’m not so sure if I was lying or telling the truth to him about me falling in love.  I’ve never done it before, so how do I know that it’s happening to me?  I for sure know that Madeline has no interest in me, seeing as though she already has a boyfriend, and maybe her skull is a bit thicker based on my hypothesis.  Before the end of days is here, I would at least like to gain her trust.  I want to let her know that I’m willing to help and protect her, and that I’m not a lovesick Grim Reaper who wants to have a chance at acting like a real person.  However, it would be unjust if I only save her and not everybody else in the world.  I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I know for a fact that I’m willing to try.

 

    My steps are heavier than what it was earlier.  The sky has become brighter as the early afternoon rolls around.  It’s such a shame that all of the skyscrapers, shops, people, streets, lights, and mood of New York City (as well as the rest of the world) is going to be crushed like a bug in about a week.  I hang my head low as I walk past the yellow shirted idiots who are calling everyone to repent.  Little do they know that it’s the last time that they will ever exclaim their voice to the people.  I find it strange how the other Horsemen and I are the only ones who know about what it going to happen in the future; and I think it’s revolting.  Congratulations Nostradamus, William Miller, the Mayans, John of Patmos, etc.  You crazy-ass prophets were right after all.

 

    When I arrive at the crosswalk where I accidentally killed the black woman, her body is covered and is being loaded into an ambulance.  The street is blocked off by police cars, yellow tape, and a news van is driving in to do their interview.  People gather around to examine the situation, while the woman’s family is preparing to cry their hearts out as they turn on the television.  I don’t want to think about that incident, because it’s not so different than what is going on in the rest of the world.

 

    I walk into the foyer of the apartment building when I notice something strange.  The atmosphere feels different than usual, and a chill has crept down my spine.  I ponder on what it might be, but my head is dizzy.  It feels like there is a ten-thousand pound weight on my shoulders, and yet I feel like I have wings and could fly upwards to the highest cathedral ceiling.  Is this a side effect of falling in love?  If so, I hate it.  I shrug it off even as the feeling still lingers, and walk up to the apartment.

 

    As I reach for the door handle of my home, I hear a noise that I haven’t heard in a long time.  Its laughter; and it’s coming from my sister.  What strikes me more, is that she isn’t the only one laughing.  A deeper, manlier, and darker laugh is emitting from my apartment, and it seems like that the eerie laugh has multiplied by two.  My eyes widen as I press an ear to the door and listen.  The laughter is gone, but mumbled talking has taken its place.  I’m confused at first, but then it hits me like a punch in the stomach.

 

    They’re here.

 

    “Son of a bitch…” I curse to myself quietly.  If I enter now, the guys will notice me, and drag me into a situation that I really don’t have the nerve to face; like go out to drink, or head to a strip club.  All that I want to do is to go back to bed, forget about what Gabriel said, and give Madeline a call.  I slowly opened the door, and was thankful that they haven’t noticed me yet.  It wasn’t until I had quietly gone inside, closed the door, and was already a few feet from my room when they got me.

 

    “Death!” Life exclaimed as she and the Horsemen sit in the living room.  She’s wearing a pink sundress, has a white flower in her hair, her smile is as wide as her head, and she’s holding a glass of Diet Coke.  “Check it out!  The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are together again.  It’s like the Beatles are coming back from the dead and are making a comeback!”

               “Yeah, only that we can’t play music for shit.” said Famine.

               “I tried to play the tuba once, but I couldn’t do it very well.” said Pestilence

               “You should’ve let us known about that a long time ago.  I’d LOVE to see you make a fool of yourself and put that on Youtube.” replied War 

 

    I really meant it when I said that I would rather work with a bunch of Girl Scouts than with these freaks.  My interests and personality don’t fit well with any of them, and it’s been so annoying to the point of agony.  Like I said, I’ve known the Horsemen for as long as I can remember, but we rarely see eachother as it is.  I know that we have to work together and that we’re eventually going to put our differences behind us, but I’m still conflicted on whether or not I can trust these guys.

 

    Pestilence is sitting on the couch next to my sister.  His skin is a sickly pale and covered in old disease scars, his hair is cut at an angle and is dark blonde in color, he’s holding an inhaler, his gray shirt is covered in old blood possibly from Tuberculosis, and his colorless eyes have dark circles under them.  I still can’t believe that he and I paired up at several points in history; because he’s changed so much as the time passed.  I don’t know how many diseases that he’s contracted in his life, but I’m pretty sure that if you can pronounce it then he’s had it at least once.  Out of them all, I consider him to be the closest thing that I have to a “friend”.  Even so, he has his flaws.

 

    Famine is on the floor in a fetal position.  He has a good tan compared to everyone else, and he’s also skinnier.  There has never been times when I’ve seen him weigh over 115 pounds, and one could easily count all of the bones in his body.  His black hair is messy, his face is sunken and hollow, his shirt is two sizes too big, his voice is weak, and he smells like dirt.  Compared to his crippling anorexia, he eats like no tomorrow.  I’ve seen him be so hungry to the point of him eating an animal while it was still alive.  He has his on and off days, and by the look of his solemn expression, he looks more tired than starving.

 

    Finally, there’s War.  He was once my best friend through thick and thin, but years passed and we eventually went our own ways.  By the look on his face right now, he doesn’t seem very happy to see me.  His dark hair is long and in a ponytail, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket, his jeans are torn and shredded, there is fire in his eyes, he has a weak goatee, and he’s now standing up from his seat.  My heart rate increases as he moves closer to me, and without knowing, I back away slowly and my hands touch the wall of my apartment.

 

                “Well what do you know,” says War in a mocking tone “It’s the Grim Reaper in the flesh.  Oh lord, how I’ve wanted to see this day.”

    He jabs me in the shoulder and says in a deep voice “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, buddy.  Heh, get it?  Bone?  Becau-“

               “Yeah, I get it.  That’s very funny.” I reply.

               “Don’t interrupt me.  This is very serious business here, man.  Remember World War II?”

               “How could I forget?”

               “Remember when we made a deal after the first one that nothing would ever happen like that ever again?”

               “Uh, I think so…”

               “Remember when you said that Nagasaki wasn’t going to be bombed, and that you were 100% sure about it?”

               “That was a mistake!”

               “Yeah, very costly mistakes that I have the burden of carrying on my shoulders.”  He pins me to the wall and grabs my shirt.

               “More people died in that war than any other in all of history, and I just want to know how you feel about that.”

               “I, uh….”

 

    Before I know it, War grabs my face and tosses me to the ground.  I’m not hurt, but I am mildly irritated.  While still on the floor, I kick his legs as best as I could.  War stumbles and bumps into the arm of the couch behind him.  As I get up and plan to attack again, my sister grabs War and slaps him in the face as hard as I’ve ever seen.

 

               “Don’t you touch him!” she says out loud as she catches her breath.  “You boys came here with a promise to not cause any damage, and look at you!  Yes, Death made a mistake back then, but you shouldn’t be worried!  World War II is gone and past, and if you all continue acting like animals, so help me, I’m not afraid to kick all Four Horsemen out into the street.  Do I make myself clear?” she turns to Pestilence and Famine.

               “Yes…” they say simultaneously.  I stand up on my own feet, straighten my back, and crack my neck.  “Nice to see you too…” I mumble.  If looks could kill, War’s expression alone wouldn’t do much damage to me, but would probably rip the internal organs out of a human and feed them to wild dogs.

“Anyway,” I attempt at small talk “why are you guys here instead of, well, wherever you guys live?  On that subject, what have you been up to all these years?”

               “None of us have been in the Americas, I can tell you that.” says Pestilence.  “Personally, I’ve been over in China.  I’ve been there since...I don’t remember.  I think Famine over here has been in Russia or something.”

               “You’re wrong ass-bag; _very_ wrong.  I’ve been over in Africa.  Where?  All over the damn continent, that’s where.”

 

    War rolls his eyes and turns his back towards everyone.  “Amateurs.” he says and pops the collar of his leather jacket.  “I’ve been in the middle east.  You know.  Afghanistan, Libya, Jerusalem, Pakistan, stuff like that.  I can’t count how many times I’ve been kidnaped by the Taliban, Al Qaeda, everyday people, you name it; and it’s all because of religion.  The world would be at peace if it weren’t for it.”

 

    He has a point.  Wars have been fought over beliefs, man has turned against eachother for the sake of worship, and times have gone downhill since the day it became popular.  In my views, I can never forget that day; the day when Adam and Eve ate that stupid fruit and caused the future to go haywire.  What would happen if they didn’t eat that thing to begin with?  Would I still exist?  What about my sister?  Would the world be at peace knowing that there’s no such thing as hate and destruction?  The answer is simple.  Life and I would still exist, regardless of what happened in the past, and what is about to happen during the apocalypse.  But when it comes down to committing acts of terror for your own beliefs, it’s just plain stupid.  We have to live with it though, because its human nature to say that you are right and other people are wrong.  I would be out of a job if God didn’t have anything to do with me, or the world for that matter.

 

               “We, uh, have been busy over here in New York, as you can tell.  I guess that you guys must’ve been told to come here by the angels?” asked Life.

               “Yes.  Each of us had an archangel talk to us about what’s going to happen.  I don’t know if it was by instinct or what, but we all were guided to come here to the US.” said Famine.

               “I had to sit on my ass on a sixteen hour flight from Egypt just to come here, so our stay had better be worth it.” remarked War, avoiding eye contact with me.

               “Stay?  Wh- Do you guys actually think that you’re staying in this tiny apartment?” I asked.  I’m a bit shocked from War’s statement.  I didn’t expect company in the first place, much less for them to stay here.

               “I thought that it would be a good idea!” said Life cheerfully.  “Hotels are expensive here, and they’re too tired to go out and get one.  Besides, it’s free for them, and we have Netflix!”

 

    I fuckin’ knew it.  She just had to make my day better, didn’t she?

 

               “I’m okay with that.  If I see any of you try and crawl in bed to cuddle with me, the consequences will not be friendly.  Understood?”  I state in a sarcastic and hard-toned way.

 

    By the looks on Pestilence and Famine’s faces, they understand me perfectly.  War is now in the kitchen, and I can hear the fridge opening and closing.  I don’t know if he heard me, but I pray that he did.  He may look tough on the outside, but I’ve seen him cry in the middle of the night because he had a bad dream.  I nod, and without saying a word, I slip into my room and lock the door.

 

    I plug my phone into its charger, open up the music app, and play it on shuffle.  The band “Styx” emits from the built in speakers of my device and breaks the dead silence of the room.  I unzip my jacket and drop it on the floor.  I know that I’m going to have to pick it up eventually, but I could care less.  All I want to do is block out the noises from the living room and forget that I exist.  When you’ve lived since the dawn of time, things happen to you, you can’t escape them, and there’s no going back to what happened before you came to be.  The closest you can get to salvation is music.  While I can’t touch humans, I can at least touch something they’ve created and let it take me away like cloth on a breeze.  You can’t touch music, but it most certainly can touch you.

 

               _Babe I’m leavin’_

_I must be on my way_

_The time is drawing near_

_My train is going_

_I see it in your eyes_

_The love, the need, your tears_

    While the music still plays, I sit down on my bed and grab my phone.  Unlocking it, I contemplate on whether or not I should text Madeline and let her know that I’m still here.  After a few moments, I decide not to, and that I should wait a few hours before make any moves.  I can still hear the chatter going on between my sister and the horsemen, and sadly, it goes on for longer than expected.  I eventually get bored of it, so much to the point that my mind shuts off, and I can’t tell if I passed out or if I’m getting tired easily these days.  In any case, for the first time in over a decade; I have a dream.


	5. Somnium

              I can’t be sure if my mind is simply projecting images from the void in hopes that it will confuse me, but this was the first dream that I’ve had in almost ten years, so I treasure what little presentation it offers.  It starts out very hazy, and I don’t remember anything about what I’ve seen or felt.  It was like looking at poor quality sepia photographs printed on wet paper.  I can, however, remember the image of a silver key, with a chain that was very long and thin strung through it.  I could also see a hand, grasping it, as it was the only thing keeping that person alive.  The person brings it to their chest, begins to cry, and my vision blacked out from the scene.

 

               Now, when I become aware of my dream-like surroundings again, I’m in an old cemetery surrounded by dead bushes and weeping willows.  The sky is a monotone gray, and is full of clouds.  The sun isn’t anywhere to be seen, yet it still feels like daylight.  The grass below my feet grows black like charcoal, the tombstones are cracking and withering away, a statue of an angel in the center of the field has a skeleton face, nobody is in the cemetery except for myself, and a cold breeze penetrates my hoodie; making me have to pull the zipper up.  If I was a Goth, this would be the perfect place to have a photoshoot.

 

               I walk for some time through the rows of weathered headstones and try to read the inscriptions, but they’re too worn and I can barely make out a date or even a name.  A flock of birds call to the sky, and fly out of a dead weeping willow behind me.  Turning my attention to them for a moment, I take notice that the tree’s limbs grow longer by a few feet, and the clouds begin to part.  When I go back to the tombstones, a black hooded and faceless figure is sitting on the one I was looking at before I got distracted.  I don’t know who or what he is, or even where he came from, but something tells me that he’s safe to talk to.

 

               “Hi…” I say and nod my head.

               “Afternoon…” he says in reply with a calm voice.  Since his face is hidden, I can’t see his mouth move, or what kind of expression he has; but whatever.  I’ll just go with it.

               “Were you following me, by any chance?”

               “No.  I arrived here about the same time as you.

               “Ah, okay then.  Anyway, I don’t mean to be nosy, but is it okay if I ask who you are?”

               “No need.  You know me very well.  I guess you could say that we’re very close friends.”

               “I see…  I’ve never seen you before in any of my dreams, or even when I’m awake.  So how do I know that you’re my close friend when I don’t even know you?”

               “Just believe in what I say, and everything will be fine.  If you’re looking for an excuse to introduce yourself, then by all means go ahead.  I don’t mind.”

              

               Straightening my back and clearing my throat, I hand out my hand and smile. 

 

               “My name is Eric.”

               “No it’s not, but nice try though.”  The figure refuses my greeting, stands up from the tombstone, and walks behind it.  I, in turn, lower my hand.  “You are Cronus, Thanatos, Ankou, Yama, Santa Muerte, Yanlou, and Shinigami, but you are commonly known as either ‘Death’ or ‘The Grim Reaper’.  Did you ever think about using one of those names instead of that stupid human one you came up with?”

                "I thought about it, but those names are old, and just-“

                “You wanted to make an impression on a girl you can’t have; admit it.

              

                I’m dumbfounded yet slightly aggravated by his sentence, and put my hands in my pockets.

 

               “You don’t have a chance with her.  She’s just another human being, and that’s all she’ll ever be.  She’s not special, she can’t live forever like you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.  Your heartbeat is almost non-existent, breathing is optional for you, if you fall from a skyscraper you’ll just get right back up as if nothing happened, and you have no choice but to continue on and suffer the same pain you’ve felt since the moment you were born.  Madeline?  If she dares do any of the stuff you can do, the consequences would be unimaginable.  What makes her any different from any other human you’ve killed?  Answer me that…”

 

               I stand there for a moment, not even daring to move or blink.  He’s right.  She is just an ordinary human girl, who is going to grow old and die like everyone else.  Even if I try, I won’t end up having a future with her.  I stay, and she will go, that is the way things always have been since the dawn of forever.  I look down at the black grass, and notice that it’s withering away.  Black ashes rise from the ground and reach the colorless clouds; delicate and careful, like tiny black feathers.

 

               “I…I don’t know.  She has this sort of…glow that I like about her.  I at least want to be friends with her, if possible.”

               “D, at the rate you’re going, friendship is the last thing you need; especially one that involves a human, no doubt.  You need to stop denying yourself about the apocalypse.  Gabriel was right, it is coming, it was your birthright to participate in it, and you have no other option.”

 

               I pull my hands from my pockets and clench them into tight fists.  It’s only been a few minutes, and I already hate this guy, whoever he is.  This is my dream, I control what’s going on, and I want him gone.

 

             “Who are you anyway?  You never answered my question.  I’m sorry to say, but I don’t know you.  If you would be so kind, please, for the love of God above, tell me who you are!”  I exclaim.  What happens next would leave a scar on me for a long time.  The figure reached for the top of his hood, pulled it back, and revealed a face that I knew instantly.  “No…” I whisper.  “It can’t be…”

 

             The man under the cloak had pale skin, white and messy hair, sunken eyes filled with sorrow, and a look that I know is the last one that most people see before they die.  This person is the Grim Reaper.  This person is me.  I am my own worst enemy.  I am my downfall.

 

             “The time has come, Death.  It’s time to stop being lazy and face the work you have before you.  The end is near, and you are going to make it happen…”

 

              The formerly hooded figure raises its hand, my hand, and points at me.  Instantly, I fall down to the black grass and scream in fear, as my vision fades, and I’m lost forever.

 

_Death_

_Death_

_Death_

_DEATH_

 

 

* * *

 

             “Death?  Death, are you okay?  Wake up!”  My sister shakes me roughly.  My eyes dart open, and I’m instantly back at my room in the crappy apartment in New York City.  My breathing is ragged, the blanket is now on the floor, I’m still fully dressed in the Led Zeppelin band shirt and jeans from yesterday, and I have a small headache.  Life is sitting on the corner of the bed with her hand on my shoulder.  I don’t hear the horsemen in the living room, so I can guess that they must not be here.  Good riddance.

 

             “You were sweating like a horse, and shivering.  Did you have a bad dream or something?” she asked, her blonde hair woven into a single long braid.

 

              “Yeah, I guess so…  Sorry if I freaked you out.” Good Lord, my back hurts.

               “You did a little bit, but it’s alright.  The horsemen went to go get breakfast at Denny’s, and we tried to wake you up earlier, but you didn’t even budge.  We knew you weren’t dead because, well, you know.”

             “Heh, how funny.  So, do you have any plans today, or what?”

              “Not really.  Now that you’re awake, do we want to meet the guys over at Denny’s?  We could go shopping if you wanted later, too.

              “None of them have had true American food in a long time; let’s leave them to their happiness.”

 

               I start thinking of good places to go shopping at, when I’m suddenly reminded that I needed to call Madeline.  I reach for my fully-charged phone and look for her contact information.  There, on the list, one of the things I had forgotten about her.  She works over at Barnes and Nobles booksellers.  This could be my big chance.

 

             “Why don’t we go over to Barnes and Nobles?  We haven’t been there in a long time, and I really like the smell of new books.”

             “You have books all over your room, and some of them you’ve never even read.  I guess we could go there anyway, just to get some fresh air.”

            “Good thinking.  I’ll get ready, and you should too.”

 

             She salutes me playfully and stands up from my bed.  I drag my legs off the side and stop her before she leaves.

 

             “Life,” I call out.  “You have a human name that you use for signing résumés and stuff, right?”

             “Yes, that’s right.”

             “What is it?” I ask.

 

            She laughs and shakes her head.

 

            “I change my name every couple of years, but I like to use ‘Jessica’ a lot.”

            “Jessica…” I murmur.  “It suits you.”

           “Thanks.  Did you finally come up with one after all this time?”

           “I did.  It’s ‘Eric’.”

          “Eric?  Hmm...  I like it!  Eric and Jessica, Death and Life.  I think they work nicely!”

 

           I smile as she closes the door, and I walk over to the closet to change clothes.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as a way for me to cope with the death of my Grandmother and dog, and I can honestly say that its helped me a lot. It's a very personal story, and it means a lot when people read it and give feedback.
> 
> I was inspired to write this from several sources.   
> 1: I was heavily inspired by "Warm Bodies" by Isaac Marion. That book left an imprint on my soul, that I know is not going to go away any time soon.
> 
> 2: I am a practicing Catholic, and I wanted to write something that involved religious figures interacting with people. Call me a heathen or a hypocrite all you want, I'm not deleting this.
> 
> Again, this story means a lot to me, and I would very much appreciate it if ya'll could give me some feedback. Bonus points if you give me fanart or illustrations.


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